


Under the Light of the Moon

by RedTeamShark



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Animal Clinic, Flirting, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Surprise Making Out, Veterinary Clinic, animal injury, nongraphic injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:21:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29291271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedTeamShark/pseuds/RedTeamShark
Summary: Clint was just finishing cleaning up at the clinic when it happened. A shriek of brakes, a thud, and a yelp. Just like that, he had an injured dog on his hands.That wasn't the strange part, necessarily. The strange part came the next morning, when he got back to work and the injured dog was a naked man.His life was weird.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Kudos: 63





	Under the Light of the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> I like werewolves.
> 
> Enjoy this little winterhawk interlude while I postpone editing the next multi-chapter story (which is... not winterhawk, but _is_ part 2 of a series, hint hint wink wink).

A shriek of brakes, a tell-tale thud, and a yelp.

Clint heard none of it, too busy shaking his hips to Beyonce as he mopped up the front entrance. Lucky, on the other hand, was on high alert. He’d been stressed and whining ever since the sun went down, convinced that it was well past dinner time. Poor dog didn’t understand daylight saving’s time. Not that his owner really got it either.

When someone pounded on the door of the clinic, Clint was busy belting out along with _Single Ladies_. It was Lucky who got his attention, nosing against his leg and whining louder, jerking his head towards the door.

He pulled one earbud out to ask the dog what was wrong and finally realized what was going on.

“Shit, maybe they’re closed? Hello? Hello!” More frantic knocking on the front door.

Setting his mop aside, Clint crossed the clinic’s lobby to the door, flipping the lock and opening it. “Hey, can I he--”

“He ran out in front of me, I couldn’t stop in time, oh, god…” The man groaned helplessly and Clint opened the door wider, looked down at the dog lying at the man’s feet. Huge, shaggy black fur, and a growing puddle of moonlight-black blood under him.

“Inside, quick,” he instructed, turning his music off and pulling up his dial pad. “First door on the left, exam room, can you lift him?” No way, the dog was huge--

The man seemed to agree with that sentiment, giving Clint a look that asked if he was crazy. “I barely got him over here from the road!” He pointed behind him, like Clint didn’t know where the road was, before running a hand through his hair. “Shit, sorry, I’m just--”

“Yeah, you’re fine.” Clint dropped his phone into his pocket as the call went to voicemail, helping the man lift the heavy dog into the exam room. Behind them, Lucky barked and whined, settling in to watch them carefully from the corner.

“Dammit, Bruce, pick _up_ ,” Clint hissed, dialing again as he flipped on lights. There was a trail of blood across his freshly mopped floor and the clinic’s on-call vet had apparently decided that 5 p.m. was a good time to go AWOL. “Here,” he tossed his phone to the man, moving to the dog. “Keep redialing until Bruce answers.”

He wasn’t trained for this, all he really did was clean the place and walk the kennel dogs. Still, he had at least enough passive knowledge to start. Clint moved to the dog’s head, startling when he realized that the big animal was awake and aware. Blue eyes stared at him, the dog shockingly calm as Clint reached out and gently stroked his head. “Shh, easy, it’s okay…” No sound, not a growl or even a whimper, as he gently felt along the dog’s body for the injury. There was a lot of blood loss and the physical trauma of getting hit by a car--the dog should have been in shock, if not already gone. Clint kept up his quiet words of assurance, pulling back his bloodied hand as he found the source of the injury. A large gash in the animal’s side, oozing blood slowly but steadily. “Okay, okay, I can probably--”

“He said he’ll be here in five minutes,” the man interrupted, offering Clint his phone back. “Also, really? Beyonce?”

“Gotta keep myself entertained somehow.” Clint slid his phone into his pocket, washing his hands quickly. He should have put gloves on, but the frantic situation had him acting before thinking. “Hey, this isn’t your dog, right?”

“Why would I run my own dog over?”

“Munchausen syndrome? I just--he doesn’t have a collar or anything, wasn’t sure if you knew any of his medical history.”

The man shook his head, eyes catching the clock in the corner of the room. “Shit!” He pulled out his own phone, walking back into the lobby as he talked. “Pepper, I need you to cover for me--”

Clint tuned it out, got to work on the few things he knew how to do. He pulled out the chip reader, moving to the dog and running the device slowly around his head. Probably not, but he could at least try to see if this guy had an owner somewhere.

A wet tongue licked his wrist, cold nose nudging against his hand. Clint smiled, stroked the dog’s head gently. “You’re one tough cookie… Hey, maybe that’s what we should name you if you don’t already have a name, huh? You like Cookie?”

To his surprise, the animal’s tail thumped lightly against the table. 

Clint grinned. “Cookie it is, then.”

“Just because you name it doesn’t mean you can keep it. What are we working with? And put some damn gloves on, Clint.” Bruce brushed into the room, already in his scrubs, pulling on a pair of gloves.

It was routine from there, giving the vet the rundown, watching the dog--now dubbed Cookie--get stitched up. By the time they finished it was past six, but Cookie seemed to be doing okay, sporting a large white bandage wrapped around his middle to cover his stitches.

“Now,” Bruce instructed, looking the dog in the eyes. “Don’t chew that and I won’t have to put the cone of shame on you.”

The dog leaned forward and licked Bruce’s nose.

“Yeah, that’s what they all say.” He ruffled Cookie’s fur gently, before looking at the open door. “Hey, wasn’t there--”

Clint looked over from where he’d been cleaning up, blinking in surprise. There had been a trail of blood across the lobby, but it was mopped up. He pulled his gloves off, stepping out of the room and looking around.

On one of the waiting chairs was a suit jacket, the one the man that hit Cookie had been wearing. Across the room, mopping diligently, was the man in question. With a little less adrenaline rushing through him, it hit Clint just who he was looking at.

“Wait,” Bruce said, stepping up beside him. “Is that… Tony Stark?”

He looked up at his name, offered them a sheepish smile. “Thought I’d help out a little. You don’t mind, right?”

Clint grinned. “Well, at least he won’t skip out on the bill.”

* * *

Despite the excitement of the night before, Clint was up early the next day. He had kennel dogs to walk, everyone would need food and fresh water, and even though Bruce said Cookie would be fine, he wanted to check up on the dog. He wasn’t a vet, but he loved dogs.

He sipped coffee as he walked down to the clinic, Lucky at his side. The poor boy had been traumatized by everything last night, had climbed right onto the couch with Clint when they got home and refused to leave his side. He seemed to be doing better this morning, at least.

Walking along the rows of animal cages, greeting the different dogs by name, Clint approached Cookie’s spot at the end of the row. They hadn’t coned him despite the bandages. He’d been shockingly mellow, really, not acting out like an animal that was in pain usually would. If Clint didn’t know better, he’d think that the dog understood they were there to help.

His footsteps froze as he got to the end of the row of kennels, eyes widening. His coffee splashed onto the floor.

That wasn’t a dog. That was a guy.

A naked guy.

An _attractive_ naked guy.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Clint whispered.

“I can explain! Kinda!” The guy held his hands up, shifting the white bandage wrapped around his side.

“ _Cookie_?” Clint asked, his voice pitching up into something close to a shriek.

“Um… yes?”

At his side, Lucky barked once, the sound setting off every other dog in the place.

* * *

With the _hot, naked man_ that had been a dog last night out of his cage, Clint had time to mourn his spilled coffee. Just until he came out of the bathroom, wearing a spare set of Clint’s scrub pants which were hilariously long on him.

With ten minutes until they opened for the day, he didn’t have time for more than a basic explanation.

He sat down on the desk, stared at the man in the office chair. “You can explain?”

“Kinda. My name’s actually Bucky, and, uh, well--”

“I swear to dog if you say you were in a costume…”

“No, no! Wait did you just swear to dog?”

Clint jerked his head towards the little placard on the desk. _Why Swear To God? Dogs Hold You More Accountable._ “Bruce won’t let me put it facing the lobby because some Karen got mad.”

“Lame.”

“So you were explaining why you were a _dog_ last night?” Don’t get distracted, he admonished himself. He’d stumbled into some freaky fetish shit, maybe. Like the weird part of the internet, but in real life.

“‘Mawerewoo…” Bucky muttered, his head tilted down.

“Come again?”

“I’m a… werewre…” Again, the last word was spoken more into his own bare chest than the room.

“Dude you’re wimping out on what seems to be the most important word in that sentence.”

“I’m a _werewolf_ , okay?!” Bucky looked up, his blue eyes fierce. “Is that clear enough for you?”

Clint laughed.

Bucky kept staring.

Eventually, Clint’s laughter petered out in disbelief. “Holy shit. You’re serious.”

“Yeah, I--”

The front door opened, someone’s steps shuffling into the building. “Clint, you’re here--Oh, hey. Who’s this?” It wasn’t Bruce, one saving grace. It was Kate, one of the other employees. That wasn’t much better.

Panic gripped them both, eyes locking. Clint was not about to say _This is Cookie but his name’s actually Bucky and he’s a werewolf_ to her. And Bucky was giving a quick, subtle shake of his head.

“Um.”

“I’m--” Bucky started, and brilliance struck Clint.

“He’s my boyfriend!” He shouted over whatever extremely reasonable explanation Bucky had. He slid into the other man’s lap, locked their lips together in a sloppy kiss that he hoped looked passionate. _Please_ let it look like passion and not like he just got his tongue bitten.

When Clint came up for air (okay, maybe he enjoyed that too much), Kate’s brows were furrowed together. “Why’s he practically naked? You know what, don’t answer that. And don’t do weird sex stuff at your job.”

“Sorry, Katie. I’ll, uh, get his clothes and send him home.”

She made a face. “Maybe you should go with him. I need to breathe in some bleach fumes to get this out of my brain.”

Clint stood up, offering a hand to Bucky. “Hey, do you mind telling Bruce that Tony came in and took Cookie home with him? He’ll know what I mean.”

“Sure, whatever. Now get gone, it’s _supposed_ to be your day off, you know.”

Was it? Damn, he was bad at keeping track of the days. Clint settled his hand firmly in to Bucky’s, whistling for his dog and leading the way out. “See you later, Katie-Kate!”

“Nice to meet you,” Bucky added with a wave.

“Don’t be freaky in public!” She called back as the door shut behind them.

Clint didn’t want to let go of Bucky’s hand. Shit, that hand felt nice in his. He turned, raising an eyebrow. “My place is only a few blocks from here, if you want to borrow some pants before going home.”

Bucky looked around, frowning. “I’m not even sure where _here_ is. Last night is kind of a blur…”

“Well, allow me to give you the grand tour. I’ll point out all the best parks for chasing squirrels. Or you can ask Lucky.”

The look Bucky gave him was thoroughly unimpressed. “I’m not a dog, Clint.”

“Coulda fooled me last night.’ He winked, kept his hand decidedly in Bucky’s, and started leading the way home. At his side, Lucky walked along, as casual and content as usual.

His life was weird and Clint had learned to accept that a long time ago. Rolling with the crazy--even if crazy took the form of a hot, naked werewolf he’d just made out with--was just easier.

At Clint’s apartment he paused, turned to fully face Bucky and schooled his features into seriousness. “I don’t usually bring a guy home without at least pretending to go on a date first, you know.”

“Do you usually make out with strangers at your job?”

His feigned seriousness broke into a grin. “Only when they were dogs the night before--wait, shit, that sounds bad--”

Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “Really, I just need a phone. I have a friend who can come get me and bring me some pants. Steve’s in on the whole… thing.”

He could have asked for that at the clinic. Instead he'd let Clint walk him home and hold his hand the whole time. He dared to hope that it meant something, but... Clint bit in his frown, pulling out his phone and passing it over. “You wanna come up for some coffee while you wait? I sort of didn’t get to finish mine this morning.”

Bucky’s hand was on his, warm and gentle as he took the phone, his touch lingering. “You gonna bite your tongue in my mouth again if I do?”

“Not unless you’re into that.” He winked, even as his face flushed.

The phone was still in Bucky’s hand, but after a moment he reached forward, slipped it back into Clint’s pocket. “Coffee. I’ll call Steve in a little while. He’s used to these sorts of things after a full moon… well, not these _exact_ things, I don’t usually get hit by a car, but…” Bucky shrugged. “The ‘come get me’ phone call is not uncommon.”

He’d almost forgotten that the man in front of him had been a dog bleeding all over the floor the night before. Clint’s eyes darted to the bandage, sucking in his lower lip with concern. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“If I say no, will you play nurse to me?” The light tone evaporated his worry, mostly. Bucky seemed fine.

Still, he’d play nurse if it meant more time with the other man. It _was_ his day off.


End file.
